


stellaris

by redluxite (wordstruck)



Series: VLD One-Shots [26]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Falling In Love, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Moonwalker Shiro, Other Background Characters - Freeform, Pining Shiro (Voltron), Starchild AU, Starchild Keith
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-21
Updated: 2018-12-21
Packaged: 2019-09-24 03:20:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17093066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wordstruck/pseuds/redluxite
Summary: The first time they’d met was by accident.The second time is deliberate.Keith comes back, and again, and again.He still says Shiro’s name like it’s something sweet, warm as the light of a star.





	stellaris

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally written for the TEOU: Sheith zine, but since the project is no longer pushing through, we've been given permission to upload our works. The theme was alternate universes, and since I have a soft spot for my starchild AU, I decided to go for starchild!Keith and moonwalker!Shiro. 
> 
> I am admittedly a little insecure about this fic, bc someone once critiqued it saying it wasn't believable that Shiro and Keith fell in love, and basically tore it up... but, well. I hope people like it regardless. I tried my best.
> 
> This fic actually has accompanying art by Opal_Delight; if they ever upload their piece, I'll be sure to link it over here. Beta'd by onoheiwa.

* * *

 

 

The Stratestea moon is large and barren and quiet.

Most places are, here in the vastness of space. Stratestea turns languidly around its planet, its sister moon circling slowly nearby. All the way below, the planet Thilles is a blot of yellow and green and life. In the distance, a white star shines, holding everything in its orbit.

Shiro loves it here.

Of course, he’s probably more than a little biased, since he’s lived here all his life – several decapheebs now, and counting. And sometimes he does wonder what the universe is like beyond his moon, beyond the fringes of the system he inhabits. But then in the star-rise – when his moon shifts and turns so his home faces the star, the light bathing the rock around him in flecks of color and moonshine – Shiro thinks, well, he’s pretty content with what he has here.

Rising from his sleeping-place, Shiro works out the stiffness from his joints and goes to work on the chores.

He cleans the area around his home of fallen chunks of asteroids and comets, sweeping away the debris that gets scattered here from space. Then he moves around the moon slowly, clearing as he goes. He checks the craters of his moon for fallen objects or creatures. From the top of a hill, he waves at the walker on the other moon, an excitable boy named Matt.

He’s hauling a particularly large chunk of meteor to a growing pile to the side of one of the larger craters when a flicker of light appears in his peripheral vision, and–

“Shiro!”

The moonwalker turns, already smiling.

Keith skitters to a stop in a flurry of brightness and stardust, dark hair flitting around his face. There’s a flush high on his cheeks from flying over, a streak of light cutting across the darkness of open space. His bare feet trail shimmers of bronze on the surface of the moon where he steps.

He’s beautiful.

Then again, to Shiro, he always is.

“Hello, Keith,” Shiro says, setting down the meteor chunk and dusting off his hands.

There’s a few threads of starlight braided into his hair, glinting among the dark strands that haven’t yet turned the brilliant white like that of his siblings. Keith has joked, more than a few times, that Shiro must be part star given the shock of white that falls over his forehead, stark against the rest of his dark hair.

(He had laughed afterwards, head thrown back and eyes scrunched shut, and Shiro had wanted to bottle that sound up, to hear it always.)

“Done with your chores?” Keith asks, coming to stand beside Shiro. He peers around the moonwalker, blinking at the pile of rocks behind him.

“Almost.” A corner of Shiro’s mouth quirks up, amused. His hand twitches with the urge to ruffles Keith’s hair before he remembers better. Instead, he starts walking, headed for the last stretch of the moon’s surface he hasn’t checked over. Keith falls into step beside him. Shiro’s smile widens as he asks, “did you tell Lotor you were coming here?”

Keith’s sideways glance is enough of an answer. Shiro laughs, pausing by another crater.

“I don’t need his _permission,_ ” Keith grumbles, plopping down at the edge of the crater to watch Shiro shuffle down to the center and pick up another meteor chunk.

His back is to Keith, but Shiro still bites down on a grin as he moves. “I know, I know,” he says, hefting the rock into his arms and turning back to look at Keith. The starchild has his chin in his hands, elbows braced on his knees and heels kicking at the slope of the rock. It makes Shiro’s smile soften, crinkles at the corners of his eyes.

“You’re always welcome here,” he says, as sincere as he can muster.

Keith’s answering smile is warm.

 

 

The first time they’d met was by accident.

Shiro had been on his moon for a few decapheebs, already settled into the routine of waking to the star-rise, going about his chores, then watching the world below him until it was time to sleep. Sometimes he and Matt waved at each other across the open space, though they couldn’t do much else.

(It would be Keith who would tell Shiro what Matt’s name is, tell Shiro what Matt is like. Keith would bring a lot of things into Shiro’s life.)

A little after star-rise, Shiro was just about to start checking the craters when something bright and vivid hurtled through the space above him. It tumbled down to his moon, landing past the crest of a nearby hill with a _thump._

Alarmed, Shiro ran over the barren rock to check on whatever had fallen.

He stopped at the ridge of a shallow crater. The whatever-it-is had landed in the center, a warm glow against the colorless surface of the moon. It shifted, revealing dark hair and slender hands that moved over it gingerly.

“Ow,” came a small, pained voice. And then, “fuck.”

Shiro lost his breath on the next inhale.

 _A starchild,_ he realized, looking down in awe.

 _“Fuck,”_ the starchild said again, with much feeling.

Shiro had never met the children of a star before, never mind that his home resided fairly near one. He’d seen them sometimes, though, streaks of light and the echoes of laughter in the darkness of space around him.

“Hello?” he called, hesitant.

The starchild looked up, startled, wide eyes and flushed cheeks.

“Oh,” it said, softly. Then it looked around itself, standing slowly.

Shiro watched it move, almost in a trance. The starchild glimmered as it shifted, iridescence on skin. Shiro recovered himself when it turned back to him.

“Are you hurt?” he asked, frowning slightly. That had to have been a hell of a fall.

The starchild pursed its lips, then looked down at itself contemplatively.

“No,” it said. Shiro exhaled in relief.

“Do you need help?” There wasn’t much he could do, since he couldn’t leave his moon, but he offered regardless.

A pause, then the starchild shook its head. “I’m fine.”

The starchild started to move, careful steps up the gentle slope. The closer it got, the more Shiro saw. It looked like a young boy – dark hair wisping around its face, high cheekbones, slender limbs. When it neared the top, Shiro held out a hand to help it up.

The starchild reached out – hesitated – then put its hand on the ridge so it could climb out. Shiro carefully retracted his hand.

Standing face to face, the starchild was a little shorter than him. It looked up to meet Shiro’s gaze, and its eyes were a color Shiro had never seen. Somehow, they reminded Shiro of the faint tug of the cosmos, the quiet curiosity of what more there is to the universe.

“Where am I?” The starchild looked around itself again, a tiny furrow in its brow.

“Stratestea,” Shiro replied easily.

The starchild turned back to him. “Who are _you?”_

“A moonwalker.” Shiro smiled politely. “Shiro.”

“Shiro.” The starchild said it slowly, lips rounding out the syllables, the name warm in his voice. There was a flicker of a smile at the end.

(It’d been the first time Shiro had heard his name in someone else’s voice.)

Shiro inhaled, exhaled. “What’s your name?”

The starchild tipped its head to the side. There were threads of light in its hair.

“Keith.”

 

 

The starchild ended up staying ‘til the star-set, wandering Stratestea at Shiro’s side. He quietly, curiously watched Shiro go through his chores; sat beside him to watch Thilles.

“What is it like?” Keith asked, gaze fixed on the world below them.

Shiro looked at him for a brief moment. There was a flush high on the starchild’s cheeks. Then he turned back to look at his planet, and began to talk.

Keith watched and listened, sat beside Shiro on their little hill.

When he left, a little after their side of the moon had turned away from the star, there was a small smile on his face.

 

 

The first time they’d met was by accident.

The second time is deliberate.

Keith comes back, and again, and again.

He still says Shiro’s name like it’s something sweet, warm as the light of a star.

 

 

These are the things that Shiro has learned since meeting Keith:

> That Keith is the youngest of his siblings, still with his dark hair and pale skin;
> 
> That Keith is reticent, stubborn, and guarded, but if shown patience and sincerity, he opens up in the most breathtaking ways, giving over small pieces of himself that shine like the flecks of stardust on his skin;
> 
> That Keith has a laugh like the star-rise, bright and brilliant and beautiful;
> 
> That Shiro cannot touch him.

When Shiro asks, Keith folds his hands in his lap and smiles, expression just a little faraway. “It is how we are,” he says, with a small shrug.

He never explains any further, and he never reaches out to Shiro, either.

They keep a careful distance. Having lived on his own his whole life, Shiro is not given to touch, but curiosity is a powerful thing. Keith exudes warmth in a way Shiro has never known, a steady aura of gentle heat. He’s flush with color next to Shiro, to the bare rock of Stratestea. The first time Shiro had seen Keith at star-set, when the last flares of light had dappled his skin and his cheeks, the starchild breathless with laughter—

Keith had been a steady glow in the growing darkness and there were bright flecks of bronze and copper in his eyes. He’s never stopped making Shiro feel both a little lost and a little more grounded. Shiro has never felt so compelled to reach out to something in his life.

They keep a careful distance. Keith keeps visiting the quiet moonwalker on his quiet moon. Shiro takes every smile that Keith gives him and tucks them away in the spaces between heartbeats.

 

 

Quietly, slowly, he falls in love.

 

 

He asks, once, why Keith keeps coming back here. It’s not terribly interesting on Stratestea – it’s just Shiro and moonrock and space. Sometimes transports pass by, to and from Thilles. Matt is there on the moon near Shiro and Keith sometimes visits him, too. But the starchild still tumbles from flight onto Stratestea, still comes to Shiro and sits on the edges of craters and talks.

So Shiro asks, “why do you come here?”

Keith looks at him, down in a crater, a quizzical slant to his expression. He tips his head to the side. “Why wouldn’t I?”

Shiro shrugs. “There isn’t much here.”

Keith’s brow furrows. He kicks his heels against the moonrock.

Says, “ _you’re_ here.”

Shiro looks up, caught off-guard. Keith looks down at him, all sincerity and bemusement, and something warm unspools in Shiro’s chest.

“Oh.” He looks down at the rock in his hands, unsure.

Because these are their truths: Keith can go anywhere. He can cross their system, visit the other moons, other stars and planets, other galaxies. Shiro is tied here, to this moon and this quiet existence. He doesn’t have much else to offer.

But when he glances back up at Keith, the starchild’s expression has softened; there’s a smile hidden away in the corners of his eyes and his mouth.

It’s enough for Shiro to tamp down the uncertainty and smile back.

 

 

Sometimes, Keith stays the night ‘til the star-rise. He sleeps quietly, an arm’s length away from Shiro, the only light in the darkness.

His sleep-soft smile when the star-rise breaks, the _hello_ in his voice; the careful, careful distance, just near enough for Shiro to feel his warmth—

This is how Keith says, _I love you too._

 

 

On one such night, they stay up long past star-set, until their side of the moon is dark, until Keith is the only source of light, bathing Shiro’s own pale skin with glints of starshine. They stay up and they talk, lying side by side on the ground. Keith’s hands throw out tiny sparks as he gestures, and Shiro listens, quiet and content.

They talk until Keith’s words slow and fade into half-incoherence, until Shiro is loose-limbed and breathing softly.

Keith drifts off first, but Shiro is lulled only into a half-sleep, a restlessness creeping under his skin. For a while he simply lies there and feels – the moonrock under him, the press of the nighttime air, the flicker of warmth at the edge of sensation.

Then Shiro sits up and looks over at Keith, sleeping quietly, just out of arm’s reach. He’s rose and gold next to Shiro, a quiet glow against the barren rock of the moon. Shiro watches the soft rise and fall of his chest, the fall of dark hair over his forehead, the tiny shift of fingers even in slumber.

(He’s beautiful. To Shiro, he always is.)

Shiro shouldn’t, he shouldn’t, he shouldn’t, but he reaches out, fingers of his right hand curling to push the hair back from Keith’s eyes, the gentlest brush over starbright skin–

Warmth unspools over Shiro’s hand, up his arm, searing and intense. Threads of light unfurl and press into his skin, burying the heat in his bones. Nothing hurts, but the feeling is still overwhelming enough that Shiro flinches back, cradling his arm to his chest with a gasp, and–

–and Keith jolts awake, eyes flying open in surprise and confusion. When he sees Shiro kneeling a few feet away, clutching at his own arm, his expression morphs into horror and guilt.

“Shiro,” he says, voice cracking, and his hands reach out without thinking. Shiro looks up in time to see Keith pulling back, hands closing into fists and expression stricken.

The flush of heat and sensation is already fading from Shiro’s skin, but before he can say anything, Keith scrambles to his feet and staggers back as if to put as much distance between himself and Shiro as possible.

“Keith—” and the name rings out over the space between them, but Keith is already curling in on himself, hands clutching the front of his tunic and crumpling the fabric. His chest heaves with big, hiccuping gasps. The ache of it resonates in Shiro far more than the sensation of starlight on skin.

Keith turns away, making to run, and it spurs Shiro into movement.

_“Keith!”_

The first touch of fingers around a wrist brings a surge of warmth, starlight spinning up Shiro’s right arm and sinking into skin. Shiro hauls Keith into his arms, clutching around his waist. He can feel the heat of Keith through the fabric of his tunic. Starlight blooms around them, engulfing them in dust and light, so much that it seeps through where Shiro has his eyes shut.

He pulls Keith against him, buries his face into hair spun with threads of gold and radiance. His arms hold tight.

Keith’s hands – pinned between their chests – close into fists and try to push away. “ _Shiro,_ ” Keith says, begging, desperate. “Shiro, you can’t–”

“It’s okay—”

“ _No,_ ” and there’s a hitch of a sob there. Shiro loosens his hold, hands light on the small of the starchild’s back.

“ _Keith,_ ” he says, so terribly gentle. “It’s okay. You’re not hurting me.”

And he speaks the truth, not just for reassurance: the initial overwhelming sensation of heat and light has dissipated into a steady, comforting warmth that bleeds between them. Keith looks down in wonder at where his hands are pressed against Shiro.

He’s rose and gold, here in Shiro’s arms. So achingly beautiful.

“I can touch you,” Keith says, quietly, reverently. His palms flatten over Shiro’s chest, feel the resounding heartbeat.

 

 

In all of Shiro’s decapheebs of existence, Keith is everything he’s ever wanted.

 

 

Later, when Keith has fallen back asleep next to him, exhausted and quiet, Shiro looks down at the places where he and Keith had touched. The skin on his right arm has darkened, a sheen of bronze and iridescence creeping from hand to elbow. As Shiro turns it this way and that, the flecks catch the dimming light.

Just like the way his moon shines in the light of the white star.

Just like Keith.

Shiro lies back down, careful not to disturb the starchild beside him. He reaches out his right hand, tentatively, and places it on top of Keith’s.

Between them is a steady, comforting warmth.

He falls asleep like that, a single point of touch, and when he wakes, their fingers are tangled together. Keith is flush with color next to Shiro, bright and breathtaking.

The starchild’s eyes blink open as he wakes. His gaze finds Shiro, sleep-soft and warm. The distance between them is not so careful anymore.

Keith smiles in the growing light, squeezes their hands tight.

 

 

“Hello.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! And yes, that's a reference to Stardust.
> 
> Come say hi on social media – I'm on Twitter as [@okw_tr](https://twitter.com/okw_tr) and Tumblr as [okwtr](https://okwtr.tumblr.com). You can check there for ways to support my writing.


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